by Cheryl Crane
“Ten o’clock at night? I’m in bed! Not that I was asleep. That was the night they had the dog circus in the courtyard. You wouldn’t believe the racket dogs’ll make flying around on a trapeze and such.”
“Right. And . . . you don’t remember anything unusual you saw that Monday that Mr. March was found in Jessica’s apartment? Other than Captain Picard,” she reminded, feeling silly even saying it.
“Glad you asked.” She slowly turned the walker around so that she was facing Nikki again. “I did. I thought I should give you a call, but that Jessica, she wouldn’t give me your number. She thinks I’m a bother. Do you think I’m a bother?”
“No, not at all.” Again, Nikki smiled, just as she’d been taught. “You were saying you remembered something from that Monday?”
“Yup. A washing machine.”
“Pardon?” Nikki leaned closer . . . as if that were going to aid in interpreting the conversation.
“There was a washing machine. The hula dancer tried to deliver it but I told him he had the wrong apartment. Last week I got a girlie magazine in the mail. Wrong mailbox.” She steered her walker around in a circle and started for the elevator again.
At that moment, Jessica opened the door. She was in her robe, her wet hair up in a towel. “Sorry. In the shower.”
“Have a good day, Nikki Harper,” Mrs. McCauley threw over her shoulder as she rolled away. “I’ll let you know next time those dogs are back. It’s quite a sight, really, dogs on a tightrope.”
“Have a good day,” Nikki called after her cheerfully. Then she looked at Jessica as she darted into the apartment. “You don’t want to know . . .”
Chapter 20
“I brought bagels and that strawberry cream cheese you like,” Nikki said, walking into Jessica’s apartment. She held up the paper bag. It was the first time she’d been inside since that night. She tried not to think about it. “Lox and plain cream cheese for me.”
“And I’ve got champagne and OJ in the fridge.” Jessica took the bag and left it on the kitchen counter. “Come on back while I get dressed; we’ll sit on the balcony and eat.”
As Jessica walked down the short hall to the master bedroom, Nikki noticed that she was wearing high-heeled slippers. The kind with the powder-puff bunny tail glued on them. Nikki was fascinated. They looked like something her mother would have worn in one of her early movies.
Nikki left her handbag on the white couch and followed Jessica to the back. She avoided looking at the bed. Even though the sheets and comforter were different than the ones on the bed that night, she couldn’t stop thinking about Rex lying there dead, that black hole where his eye had been. She wondered how Jessica could stand to sleep in the same bed where a dead man had lain.
“I was organizing my clothes. They’re a mess.” Jessica motioned to the mirror-doored closet that appeared to run the entire length of the wall.
It was actually a row of closets, rather than one long one. Jessica had spent several thousand dollars adding shelves for shoes and clear boxes for handbags. Nikki, who mostly kept her clothes in dry-cleaning bags flung over a chair and in the clean clothes basket in her laundry room, had always been fascinated by Jessica’s meticulous care and organization of her clothing. Fascinated, and maybe just a little frightened that anyone would spend that much time, effort, and money for the sake of fashion . . . or organization.
Nikki sat down on a white damask–covered chair just inside the door. Jessica went to the far right, where she kept casual clothing, and began to pick through a row of neatly pressed blue jeans.
“I ran into Pete Toro on the stairs,” Nikki said conversationally. She wanted to talk to Jessica a little bit about what she’d learned last night from Marquette, just so she was up to speed, but she wanted to ease into that conversation. Maybe after Jessica had had a couple of glasses of champagne.
“Did you?” Jessica murmured, her back to Nikki.
“He said he talked to the police. About when you got home the night of the party.” Nikki stared at the closet on the far left where the shoes and handbags were stored. There were little labels attached to each bin that looked like they had been made with one of those label makers Nikki used in the office to mark her files. She slid forward on the chair, squinting. “Are those labels on your shoes?”
“Mm-hmm.” Jessica pulled a pair of jeans from the closet and held them up to look at them. “It was nice of Pete to call Detective Lutz. He’s a good neighbor.”
“Mrs. McCauley said there was a dog circus in your courtyard the night of Edith’s party.” She was still staring at the labels on the shoes and handbags. “Three letters? What are the three letters on the labels?”
Jessica returned the pair of jeans to the closet and grabbed another pair. “It’s a code. So I know what bag goes with which shoes.” She kicked off her slippers and slipped out of her robe. She was wearing a matching pink bra and lace panties.
“A code? You have a code? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Nikki slid back in the chair and watched Jessica step into the jeans. It had occurred to her this morning that she’d never tracked down the bellhop at the Sunset Tower again and she made a mental note to call today to see if he was working. Nikki had held up her end of the bargain—Victoria had called his grandmother for her birthday. At this point, the fact that Rex was seeing women at the hotel didn’t really seem to matter to her investigation, but she didn’t want to leave any potential leads dangling out there, just in case one became a real lead. Besides, a deal was a deal.
Nikki crossed her arms, still staring at the boxes of shoes and bags. They were kind of like little plastic coffins . . . “Pete said he was going to the gym, but he looked like he’d already been there. Weird.”
“Hmm,” Jessica responded, not really paying attention. She pulled two white t-shirts from the closet. “Which one?” She held up both.
They looked identical to Nikki. “One on the left.”
“Good choice.” She put the other back, tossed the wet towel from her hair on the floor, and slipped the shirt over her head. “How long do you think the police investigation will take?”
“I don’t know. As long as it takes, I suppose.”
“Can they do that?” She stepped back into the slippers. “I don’t see how they can.” She grabbed the towel and strode to the bathroom. “I mean, I can’t remain a suspect permanently, right? I have that trip to Cancun for Christmas. I should be able to leave the country by then, shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. That would be something you could ask a lawyer.”
Jessica threw her a look as she went into the bathroom.
“I know,” Nikki groaned. “You don’t want a lawyer. But I think you’re being foolish not to at least talk to one.” She watched Jessica in the reflection in the mirror as she combed out her gorgeous blond hair. Self-consciously, she tugged on her own rather hastily done ponytail.
“I’ve heard that the more time that passes after a murder, the less chance police have of catching the killer. They said that on that show on TV, First 48. You ever watch it?” Jessica rubbed some kind of goop into her hair. “They show how real cops catch the bad guys. What they do in the first forty-eight hours of the investigation.”
“You never gave any guys a key to your place, did you?” Nikki asked.
“No. You sound like Detective Duntz now. Why would you even ask me such a thing? I’m not stupid. I’m just promiscuous.”
Nikki smiled to herself, glad to see that Jessica was keeping her sense of humor about this. “I just keep wondering how on earth whoever killed Rex got him into your apartment. The police said there was no forced entry.”
Jessica flipped off the bathroom light and walked into the bedroom, twisting her wet hair up on her head. She was holding a plastic clip in her mouth, so her speech was garbled. “Obviously, he used one of those lock pick thingies; I sure as hell didn’t let him in.” She took the clip from her mouth and clipped it into her hair. “My brother had one whe
n we were in high school. He used it to get into my bedroom and read my diary. You hungry?” She walked past Nikki and out of the bedroom.
“Starved.” Nikki popped up out of the chair. “I need to make a quick phone call,” she said, thinking about the bellhop again. “Then I’ll meet you on the balcony. I’ve got some stuff to tell you about the case.”
“Oh, goody,” Jessica replied, without much enthusiasm. “Good thing there’s alcohol.”
Nikki caught Julius at work. He told her he couldn’t talk, but he was off at seven. At seven-fifteen, she was waiting for him in a coffee shop on Sunset, not far from the hotel.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to call,” Julius said, slipping into the chair across from her. He’d changed into street clothes and was wearing a ball cap. If she hadn’t heard his voice, she might not have recognized him. “I left a message at your office last week. When you didn’t call, I was afraid you were blowing me off.”
“You’re kidding. I never got the message.” She smirked. “I thought you were blowing me off, Julius.”
He looked one way and then the other, then met her gaze. “What do you think?”
She raised one eyebrow, just the way her mother did when she thought Nikki had said something ridiculous. “Of?” Now she was sounding like her mother. It was the tone. It was all about the tone.
“My disguise,” he whispered loudly. “In memory of Rex.”
Nikki pressed her lips together. The kid was completely serious. She cleared her throat. “It’s good. So, what did you find out? Would you like some coffee? Something to eat?” She pushed the menu across the table to him.
Again, he looked left, then right. There were about a dozen people scattered in the coffee shop, none of whom was in the least bit interested in Nikki or her undercover bellhop. “You’re not going to believe what I found out,” he said excitedly. Then he lowered his gaze and fiddled with the fork and knife in front of him. “I was wondering . . . my granny is coming out to visit sometime this winter and it would be absolutely amazing if she could meet Victoria Bordeaux in person.” He sneaked a peek at her.
Fortunately, the waitress came to the table, giving Nikki a second to consider her reply. She ordered a caramel latte, decaf, and a piece of lemon icebox pie. He got a Coke and the apple pie à la mode.
Nikki waited until the waitress walked away. “I can’t make you any promises like that, Julius. Still, I hope you have some real information so we can catch the killer of one of your childhood heroes,” she said. “A hero to a lot of people.” She knew the childhood hero part was laying it on pretty thick, but it was worth a try.
He made a face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was trying to . . . blackmail you or anything.”
She leaned back, amused. “Which is a good thing, because you don’t have any information on me that you can’t share with anyone and everyone. I’m the world’s worst blackmail target.” The things in her past that might have been blackmail-worthy had played out publicly in the papers long ago, but she didn’t bring that up. No need to muddy Julius’s waters.
“It’s just that having your mom call Granny, it was like the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her. To her whole town.”
“I’m glad.” Nikki folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. “So, what did you find out?”
“He was there the day you asked about! In February.”
“I knew it!” She slapped the table in celebration of her finely honed detective skills.
“Mr. Atlas.” Julius sat back and grinned.
“Pardon?”
“Mr. Atlas. That’s the name he uses . . . used,” he corrected. He looked sad for a moment, then perked up again, obviously pleased with his own detective skills. “Whenever Mr. March checked in, he used the name Mr. Atlas. I checked the hotel’s records. I’m not allowed to do that.”
“I understand. But I’m so glad you did.” Nikki pressed both palms on the table. She didn’t know how this affected the case, but it was just too good. Mr. Atlas? It was sooo Rex, there was no doubt in her mind that Julius had the right hotel guest.
“It gets better,” Julius said, adjusting his ball cap.
“It does?”
Again, Julius glanced around.
“It’s okay,” Nikki whispered. “We’re not being watched.”
The waitress showed up again, this time with their order, and Nikki had to wait until she walked away. “So, you were saying?”
“You’re not going to believe this!” He popped his straw out of the wrapper, dropped it into his drink, and took a long sip, so long that Nikki was tempted to take the straw out of his mouth.
“He was there. Mr. March.”
Nikki waited.
“That weekend!” Julius said excitedly. “The weekend before he was found dead in that woman’s apartment. He was at our hotel Friday and Saturday.”
Nikki felt like she’d stepped off a cliff. Her mouth was so dry, she took a sip of her latte. “You’re positive?” she said as she ripped off the corners of two packets of sugar. She was so excited that her hands were shaking.
“Positive.”
“You saw him?”
He shook his head and stuffed a fork full of pie into his mouth. “No, I was off both nights. If he’d been there, I’d have known it was him. No matter what he was wearing: fake beard, a wig, whatever. I always recognized Rex. Me being such a big fan and all.”
Nikki noticed that “Mr. March” had become “Rex,” as if Julius and Rex had been best buds. “So how do you know Rex was there, if you didn’t see him?”
“I checked the computer. It’s all in there. You just have to know where to look. He checked in on Friday. He never checked out.”
She squinted at him half suspiciously, wondering if he would lie just to get her to get Victoria to meet his granny. “But you didn’t see him?” She stirred her latte.
“No, but my girlfriend did. She works in the kitchen. Delivers room service.”
This was like being on a roller coaster. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It made sense. Rex never checked out of the hotel because he didn’t get a chance. Because he really checked out.
He shook his head, grinning. “She saw him Friday around seven. She delivered steaks.”
“As in plural?” Nikki asked.
He put another forkful of pie in his mouth. “Sorry?”
“You said your girlfriend said she delivered steaks to Rex March’s room. Was there someone else with him?”
“That’s the funny part.” He laughed.
She waited.
“Laura said—she’s my girlfriend—she said he had this girl in the room. She looked just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. When she’s wearing the blond wig. Have you seen it?”
Nikki nodded, wondering if there was anyone who hadn’t. “Mm-hmm,” she said.
“The dress, with the big hat.” He motioned. “But by then, in the movie, she had red hair. Not the girl in the hotel room. Julia Roberts. I like red hair.” He smiled.
Nikki had been fiddling with her hair. She dropped her hand, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Rex’s lady friend was wearing a big hat in the hotel room?”
Julius shrugged. “You see a lot of crazy things in my work.”
She couldn’t help but smile, but refrained from saying mine, too, for fear he’d get off the subject again. “Did this Pretty Woman have a name?”
“Laura didn’t hear a name.” He sipped his Coke. “Oh, but she said she had a southern accent.”
Nikki practically fell out of her chair. “You’re kidding? A blonde with a southern accent?” It had to be Tiffany . . .
He nodded excitedly. “Guess what else I found out? . . . From Laura’s friend Macy, who works the front desk?”
Nikki had fully intended to buy Julius’s meal. She was wondering if she could offer to put him through college. “What?”
“He got a call Friday night. A Mrs. Atlas for Mr. Atlas.” He lifted
one brow, nodding as if he were a rapper. “Only the woman who called, she was older. She was not the Pretty Woman.”
Chapter 21
The next day, Nikki sat in her car in the rear parking lot of Barney’s Beanery and checked her vintage art deco–style Benrus wristwatch for the third time. It was 10:45. Tiffany would be pulling up at any minute.
After meeting with Julius, Nikki had decided she would talk to Tiffany before she confronted Edith about her call to the Sunset Tower the night before Rex died, or the fact that she had lied about knowing Rex was alive. Nikki had gone straight to the Barney’s Beanery on Santa Monica. Tiffany wasn’t working, but Nikki had exchanged a gift card for a thirty-day gym membership to a place in West Hollywood for information on when Tiffany was working that week. With the freebie in his back pocket, the muscle-bound dishwasher having a smoke behind the restaurant had been happy to check the work schedule to see when Tiffany would next be in.
At the time Victoria had forced the gift card on her, Nikki had tried not to take it, arguing she had her own gym membership, which she didn’t use. Walking away from Barney’s the previous night, she’d been glad she’d had it to bargain with. She’d have to keep that in mind the next time Victoria was stuffing things in her handbag as she went out the door.
At exactly 10:51, Nikki spotted Tiffany pulling into the parking lot in her old blue BMW. Nikki was out of her car before Tiffany, in shorts and a Barney’s t-shirt, was halfway across the parking lot.
“Tiffany!” Nikki left her bag in the car and just took her keys and BlackBerry. “Tiffany?”
The minute the young woman spotted Nikki, she walked faster, headed for the employees’ entrance in the rear of the restaurant.
“Tiffany, please. Can I talk to you?”
“Ah haf to be at work.”
“I know. I’ll only keep you a minute.” Nikki stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “I wouldn’t be bothering you if this wasn’t really important.”
“Oh,” Tiffany groaned, letting her hand, which was gripping a canvas bag, fall to her side. She looked away, not making eye contact with Nikki. She knew she was busted.
